Willing Offerings
by Sapsorrow86
Summary: Sequel to Cult of Beauty. A courtship is all about wishing to give and learning to take. For Belle it might be an adventure, but for Rumplestiltskin it's more akin to torture.


The woman in the golden gown remained the talk of the town long after she was gone. Whereas once her mention had served to amuse people, a splendid joke to pass the time, after her visit it no longer produced the same reaction. Instead it was the source of increasing friction and anger amongst the villagers, many of which began to question the wisdom of a magical pool of water that granted the town coward the gift of a wealthy, beautiful noblewoman as his soul mate. Out of sheer spite people became ever crueller towards the spinner, as if to punish him for the unfair fate he'd snatched for himself somehow.

To people's annoyance, however, Rumplestiltskin couldn't seem to be bothered by any of the added hostility. He went through his days in a daze, years of labour allowing him to complete most tasks without paying them much attention at all. The sheep suffered for it sometimes, when he'd herd them to spots with little grass or accidentally stumble over them when he wasn't looking where he was going, but they complained little. Bae was alert and quick enough to get out of his papa's way and kept an eye on him in order to make sure he didn't hurt himself accidentally. He also found the image of his papa with a constant, half-hidden smile startling. He'd always looked somewhat pained to him, hunched over like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Always somewhat troubled, whether it was about food, clothing or the general harshness of his life.

Meeting the woman in the Golden Gown, however, seemed to make an impact. Even though Bae was young he was smart for his age, wise in many ways, so it wasn't hard for him to pinpoint exactly what had changed inside his papa. He'd gained that night by the magic fountain something Bae had only ever glimpsed whenever his papa looked at him.

Hope.

Hope in a future brighter than the present, in happiness and fulfilment outside of simply watching him grow. His papa had taken for granted years of loneliness ahead of him and now that certainty, that truth he'd been burdened with since his mama had gone, had shattered. His future was no longer fixed, bleak and grey, but open and full of possibilities. That is, if he could keep his papa alive long enough while he daydreamed through his day, coming close to falling into streams or getting too close to the fire while cooking.

As the days passed, however, and his father's head started to clear Baelfire began to wish it wouldn't. As much of a walking hazard as his papa has become he'd at least been blissfully happy, immune to people's taunts. But the more time it passed the more he let doubt creep in, tainting his content mood. A night of talking and a kiss, however good, wasn't enough to erase years of self-doubt, of living with the constant reminder that he was unworthy of anything good.

People began to whisper amongst each other that the woman in the golden gown wasn't going to come back. Why would she, after all, with time and distance clearing her head, making her see what a mistake it had been to kiss lame and poor Rumplestiltskin, who could barely provide for his son and was common as dirt. But even though his papa couldn't help but let the talk of the town get to him Baelfire was surprised to notice that a part of him held onto his hope with a strength he didn't usually associate with him. His eyes would glitter and sometimes he'd press a hand against his mouth and a determined look would flash across his features. He'd doubted the existence of his soul mate for years. He wouldn't doubt her ever again.

He held his head proud as he arranged his wares in the small stall he had at the local fair. Though said stall was shabby and looked like the barest breeze might topple it, his craft stood out like diamonds in the rough. Spools of thread gleamed in the morning sun, an impressive array of colours that was bound to catch the eye. The dying was more of a fanciful pastime of his, a vanity that had no place in the reality of the poor village where he sold most of his thread. Sometimes he ventured to neighbouring fairs, usually grander, but even in those there weren't many people interested or able to pay full price for a carefully-dyed spool of thread. But creating such colourful thread made him happy, made him feel worthy, like there was something inside of him of value, a skill that kept him from being a waste of space.

He arranged the spools of thread to their best advantage, displaying the sturdier ones up front. Though people might hate him the resistance of his thread, yarn and rope was renowned and though he was paid poorly for them he sold enough to support Bae in spite of his unpopularity.

It was a slow morning, with Rumplestiltskin attempting to stand his ground and demand proper payment for his wares despite his fear of alienating his costumers, who saw fit to remind him at every turn that he should be thankful they chose to purchase anything from someone like him. Bae was better at it than he was, good into charming people in order to get the best deal possible. Around noon he let him take a break, paying a nearby vendor a copper for an apple that he refused to share with the boy, insisting he eat it all. He allowed him to go play nearby afterwards, and though it distracted him from selling it was worth it to see Bae run around with the other children, all too young to know better than to enjoy the company of the coward's son.

"The craftsmanship is superb. What an extraordinary skill to have."

He turned his head so quickly that his neck protested instantly, a jolt of pain travelling across it and down his spine. But he barely registered it, his senses all keenly focused on the cloaked figure before him. She was wearing a russet-coloured cloak, too rich to properly allow her to blend in with the people around her. Her dress, he could see, was also meant to help her not look too out of place, but the lushness and shine of the robin's blue fabric, combined with the delicacy of the chemise peaking above the bodice. When he looked down, a bad habit of his, he saw her silver, kitten-heeled shoes and smiled in spite of himself.

"You're back."

He wished he was the sort of man who knew how to woo with words, how to use them to convey his deepest longings, his secret desires, to convey to her the depths of his admiration for her, a noblewoman who had seen fit to sit in the dirt with a cripple and a coward, poor and lowborn, and confide in him, open herself up to a stranger. She was looking at him with an open smile on her lips, making no move to disguise her happiness at seeing him again. In her hands she carried basket covered with a bit of cloth, which he belatedly realized he ought to relieve her of it, which he clumsily did, almost managing to knock his precarious stall over.

"I told you I would. I just needed to think of an excuse to come here. My papa might be very forward thinking but he's still an overprotective father and he's not yet ready to hear about enchanted pools and images in the water."

He could only imagine that to outsiders the concept of a body of water that showed you your soul mate might not be easy to swallow. He glanced around quickly, noticing that people had yet to make the connection between a more modestly-attired Belle and the woman in the golden gown, busy as they were with their buying and selling. He wagered they had only a few more moments of peace before it became necessary to get away from the town square.

"And what does your father think you're doing here today?"

He fidgeted with the spindle he'd been working with before Belle had announced herself, his hands moving automatically, their assuredness soothing.

"I told him that when the carriage broke near a small village I chanced upon a hidden treasure, a spinner that produced the finest thread I'd ever seen. Though it was merely an excuse to come visit I'm glad to see I was not made a liar. Your thread is absolutely wonderful, Rumple." She paused when she saw him stare dumbly at her. "Oh, I'm sorry, is it alright if I call you Rumple? Rumplestiltskin is certainly unique but also quite a mouthful."

As far as he was concerned she could call him whatever name she wanted, as long as it meant she wanted him nearby. Besides a nickname implied an intimacy he desperately wished to build with Belle. He wanted her to stop being this idea in his head, to get to know her for who she really was.

Her compliment registered a second later, heat flooding his face as he turned what he imagined to be a cringe-worthy shade of red.

"Rumple is alright. And, really, I'm not that talented."

She smiled coyly at him, in a way that made him want to squirm in a way that wasn't wholly unpleasant.

"Are you calling me a liar?"

He sputtered apologies as soon as those words left her lips, mentally berating himself for already ruining things between them. But what else had he expected? He turned everything he touched into poison, Milah had told him so over and over before running away to a better life. But a moment later she laughed, taking his left hand in both of his, a soothing gesture.

"I'm sorry, I'm just teasing. I didn't mean to worry you." Her smile was gentle, reassuring. "But you do need to learn how to take a compliment. I mean it, Rumple, your thread is marvellous. I've never seen half the colours you have, and how you get such smooth, silky texture out of cotton and wool I'll never understand. And the selection is amazing." She picked up a linen thread, testing its sturdiness. "This would be perfect for book-binding, not to mention leather work. How much is it?"

He tried to gift her the thread, but she'd hear none of it. She was set on taking samples of his work to her father for his perusal, to see if any of the many artisans that thrived in Avonlea and exported their goods through their bountiful port would be interested in them.

"It's business, so we should conduct it as such."

They spent the following minutes in a strange haggling duel where Rumple named a price and Belle would insist on at least doubling it, convinced he was determined to get her to spend very little on his thread, since she wouldn't accept it free of charge. He didn't dare mention that the prices he kept suggesting were what he usually managed to sell his wares for. At some point of their little game, which turned out to be much more enjoyable than he thought at first, he started feeling the tell-tale prickling on the back of his neck that let him know they were being watched. Sure enough when he chanced a glimpse around he spotted several of the townspeople pointing and whispering to each other. He knew enough about unwanted attention to guess that curiosity would soon give way to hostility so he made it seem natural to close up his little stall in order to have some lunch. Usually Rumplestiltskin only had breakfast and supper and kept his stall open for as long as he could, struggling to make as many sells as he could. But spending time with Belle, preferably far away from the villagers, was worth relinquishing potential business and spending some of the coins he had reluctantly gotten from Belle's purchase to get them and Bae something to eat from one of the food vendors.

"Oh, don't. I... I took the liberty of fixing us something. I'm not a great cook but I'm told my baking isn't half bad."

Under different circumstances the idea of Belle thinking it wise to bring her own food would've filled him with shame. But the thought of her taking the time to prepare something with her own two hands- thinking about what best to bake, picking up the ingredients, perhaps staying up late to finish everything so it would be fresh in the morning- thrilled him, made him feel warm and heady. He quickly managed to get a hold of Bae, the boy taking enthusiastically to the idea of a picnic. He was somewhat shy around Belle now, trying to display his best manners. Winning himself a stepmother, he wagered. He was almost as invested in Belle as Rumplestiltskin himself, by the looks of it. He dutifully helped Belle spread a lovely checkered blanket, soft as a cloud, on a grassy area in a nearby meadow, far enough from the village to ensure their privacy, and set the food over it. There was some lovely baked bread, still somewhat warm and crunchy, as well as an array of cold cuts, cheese and vegetables, accompanied with small jars of condiments, all of them new to both father and son. They timidly tasted them all, unsure as to what they'd like, before assembling sandwiches, the simple fare putting them both at ease. As much of a noblewoman as Belle was watching her eat with her hands made the prospect of eating beside her seem less terrifying somehow.

Soon enough Bae got comfortable and did what he did best: talk. It took little prompting from Belle to make it happen, and the spinner didn't mind being somewhat ignored as he watched them interact, all sorts of wonderful scenarios flitting through his mind, a future of possibilities just out of his reach, close enough to brush his fingertips against it. It was more than he had had in a long time, though.

The sandwiches were followed by a far more elaborate dessert, an apple tart, the slices strategically placed at the top to form swirling roses, and the filling far creamier than expected. Both father and son dug into it with far too much gusto, Bae making happy noises as the custard melted inside his mouth. Rumplestiltskin felt the urge for a split second to be embarrassed but Belle's expression, warm and open as she watched them dig into her dessert, dissuaded him. But the more she looked at him the more nervous he got, knowing that sitting there with a mouthful of tart was not exactly the height of courtship.

"I didn't know noble ladies knew how to bake."

Immediately after he said it he wished he could take it back. Belle had gone through the trouble of baking and travelling who knew how many miles in order to surprise him with a picnic and he repaid her by indirectly implying he thought her to be without any practical skills. But his would be soul-mate's kindly nature kept her from finding insult with his words, smiling instead and explaining that her mother died when she was very little and so the maids and cooks in the castle would dote upon her and spend time with her.

"Eventually I grew curious about some of their chores and they taught them to me. My papa thought it would be good for me to have a truly well-rounded education and encouraged them to teach me some basic skills. Baking became my favourite, so I kept at it. Papa indulges my every experiment, which explains his expanding waistline better than anything else."

Bae laughed through a mouthful of tart, wolfing it down and clearing his plate before asking for seconds. With a stomach full like it had never been before the boy slumped on the side of the blanket, clearly not up to moving for a while. Seemingly prepared for such an eventuality Belle offered to read him a story, one of daring swordfights, magic spells and princes in disguise. The spinner leant back, feeling drowsy after the meal, and watched Belle read to his son like it was something she was used to doing. The blanket was small, cramped for the three of them and the used dishes littered around, so he struggled to lie down somewhat leaning on his elbows, lest he accidentally disturb Belle.

The air grew slightly warmer around them, making it harder not to nod off to the sound of Belle reading beside him. At some point he felt a hand tentatively rest against the crown of his head, gently guiding it till it was resting against something soft and warm which he realized with a jolt was Belle's lap. He tried to struggle into a sitting position but the hand on his hair moved towards his shoulder, softly pressing to try and coax him down. He allowed it reluctantly, thinking about the impropriety of it all, especially with her being a highborn lady. But, he reasoned, Bae was with them, surely that made it permissible?

At some point, later on, a hand started stroking his hair, the touch light, barely-there. He closed his eyes to better appreciate it, willing every cell in his body to focus on his scalp, on the feeling of Belle's fingers delving into his hair and tugging a little as she caressed the strands. It was strangely electrifying and hypnotic at the same time. A part of him wanted to stay awake and commit every second of the moment to memory, store it away for some other time, but another part of him wanted to sink into sleep, the first content, comfortable sleep of his life, cocooned in warmth and happiness. He closed his eyes for a second, or so he thought, and when he opened them the sun had moved a bit west and Bae wasn't beside them. His head was still in Belle's lap and she was still reading, albeit silently. One of her hands was still stroking his hair, though it still and then dropped away when he startled, at once acutely aware of the fact that they seemed to be alone.

"Where's-?"

"Bae is playing with some of the village children near the stream. I can see him from here, don't worry."

He wasn't worried about Bae at all. Though wee the lad knew where to venture and what to stay away from and obediently followed the rules Rumplestiltskin had laid out regarding playing in the meadows. But Bae being away meant a respectable distance ought to be kept, for decorum's sake, if nothing else. He scrambled back up, one palm on the blanket and the other on the grass until he was once more sitting down next to Belle.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

One moment Belle was looking at him with a half-smile on her face and the next her eyes had darkened and she was leaning forward, a hand reaching out to curve around his neck and gently hold him in place as her lips slanted across his, familiar and foreign at once. He froze, limbs locking in place and heart-rate spiking as Belle clumsily, tentatively, kissed him. She struggled for a moment to find a position that was comfortable, but twisting her head the slightest bit to one side had her mouth locking perfectly with his, opening to share warm, moist air with him. Rumplestiltskin's own lips opened automatically, almost without his permission and he had to swallow a groan when he felt the tip of a slippery, delicate tongue against his lower lip.

Belle's clear lack of experience in the realm of kissing was the most erotic thing the spinner had ever encountered. Milah had had a few dalliances before meeting him, as much as she could while remaining a virgin, and he had thought it a good thing, reasoning that experience would lessen the awkwardness and make things all around easier. He hadn't imagined he was missing out on much but he saw then he had been utterly, utterly wrong. Belle's artless, timid advances were disarming, innocent and full of curiosity as she explored the boundaries of a kiss, testing how much she could push till it became too much. The spinner fisted one hand on the checkered blanket and the other on the grass as he focused on staying still, lest he muddle things up somehow. The hand on his neck grew bolder, her fingers sinking into his hair to tilt his head just so to better devour him whole. Her other hand pressed against his chest, as if to check his fluttering heartbeat. The laces of his tunic had come undone at some point during his nap so her palm rested partially against his exposed collarbone, making him whimper pathetically on the back of his throat, his body squirming as the blood struggled to rush to his face and his groin at the same time.

She sighed his name into his open mouth, her tongue curling to brush against the back of his front teeth, eager to map every bit of him she could. Their lips parted only long enough for each of them to suck a lungful of air, meeting again seconds later, this time the spinner leaning forward as well, seeking her out. He let her control the kiss, thankful for her adventurous nature. He didn't remain passive, however, terrified that she would interpret it as a rejection. He moved his lips against her, going as far as she did, letting his tongue brush against hers only to shyly retreat a moment later, thrilled when she gave chase. It felt at all times like he was at his limit, body tight as a bowstring and holding to the last shred of self-restraint he had left to be good, to sit quietly beside her let her kiss him senseless without it turning into something other, something dangerous.

At some point, just when he thought he was going to implode or burn up from the inside out, her lips relented, heady kisses becoming small, sipping pecks. He opened his eyes, blinking the stars away to watch her catch her breath an inch away from him, a thrillingly shameful thread of saliva trailing from her swollen mouth to his. She looked flushed, her eyes still closed and panting slightly.

"Is it always like this?"

It took him a second to register she had spoken, eyes opening to focus on him. He shook his head, feeling the tips of his ears getting hotter by the second.

"No. It's not always like this." He chanced a shy glance at her, her expression open and honest like always. "It's... It's never been like this for me before."

He would've thought that admitting it would be shameful, as if confessing to a particularly undesirable personal flaw. But, instead, it felt right, like he'd said some marvellous thing. Belle smiled widely, showing the teeth he now knew the feel of, and leaned back, tilting her head up to look at the sky.

"It's getting late. I'm afraid I must leave, I promised Dove, my escort, that I'd meet him outside the village a little before sunset."

He helped her pack up, a bit put off when she insisted he take the leftovers from the meal, pointing out she wouldn't be able to properly fit the thread she'd bought inside the basket otherwise. They walked back towards the village electing to keep a small distance between them, but even so Rumplestiltskin could just tell everyone who saw them just knew what they had been up to. Oddly enough he realized, just as he watched Bae shyly peck Belle's cheek and wish her farewell, that he didn't much care.

He rather hoped, actually, that the villagers would have much cause to look so reprovingly at him in the future.


End file.
